The National Post re-imagines a week in the life of a newsmaker. Today, Tristin Hopper looks at the week through the “eyes” of Amorphophallus titanum, a.k.a. “the Corpse Flower”:

Monday
After a winter of hibernation, my divine metamorphosis has begun to take shape. Oh, but I pity any flora who is not me today. I am entrancing; a delicate ark of grace and beauty crafted by the very hand of God Himself. The frills of my petals rewrite history. The triumphant thrust of my spadix can reduce kings and emperors to their knees. From mere topsoil and fertilizer has arisen a creature so perfect that to see me is to view the aesthetic pinnacle of organic creation. And yet, beyond my overtures of visual majesty, I am also a biological marvel: For you see, my transfiguration is coupled with a cocktail of powerful aromas designed to lure in insects and spread my seed far and wide. It is thus that my beauty is immortal. I ask you, how can one blossom entrance so many senses at once?

Tuesday
My magnificence in full veil, the masses clamour to see me. Oh, citizens of Edmonton, do not trifle yourselves with your proletarian daisies and tulips, for in the Muttart Conservatory there is an organism of such splendour it will cause you to curse every day in which you are denied the privilege of standing in my lofty presence. I can heal the sick, tame the wicked and inspire the forlorn. It is times like these when I can truly appreciate the appropriateness of a name as glorious as “Amorphophallus.” I think it means “angel of the mountains.”

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Wednesday
This afternoon, I was appalled to hear one of the conservatory’s more imbecilic staff say that my unique aroma “smelled of dirty diapers.” Outrageous! Even more shocking, the comment elicited giggles from the assembled crowd. Giggles! These twits had witnessed nothing less than floral blasphemy, and they giggled! And it was then I realized: These legions of onlookers see me not as a totem of perfection, but as an icon to be mocked … a freak! I tell you, Edmonton, I am not your sideshow! I am not your two-bit curiosity! I am Amorphophallus titanum, the most brilliant flower on earth!

Thursday
While once I reveled in their attention, now these “admirers” are but players in my living nightmare. Oh, damn you to hell, you miserable leering proles. Curse the deity that condemned me to spend my brief days on earth in your simple-minded company. I have given you my soul, and you treat me as a mere ornament; a bit of curio to charm your vapid, Prairie lives. Most insultingly of all, I have learned that my name is not an invocation of lustre and beauty. Rather, these plebeians have seen fit to name me after their own shriveled genitalia. They gaze upon a miracle of vegetative reproduction, and yet can think only of their own crude sexual implements.

Friday
My youth expended, I can already feel the encroaching clasp of death. My petals wilt. My senses rot. I am fast collapsing into a twisted puppet of my glorious beginnings, haunted by the memory of what once was. I fear all my pollination is now to be done in the hereafter. I only pray you to bear me witness that I met my fate like a brave flower. The rest, as they say, is silence.